


The First Anniversary of the Twenty First Century

by SweetAndSharp



Series: Immortals Nonsense [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Immortal Merlin, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 23:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetAndSharp/pseuds/SweetAndSharp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin and Arthur celebrate their anniversary in the new century with a slightly smutty good time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Anniversary of the Twenty First Century

 

Merlin tentatively headed toward the front desk. In hotels this large, well appointed and on this lofty end of town, he felt like a supplicant when approaching the ornate Check-In desk. Not that the women and men who stood behind the glittering planes of marble were more frightening than Uther on his throne, but at least with Uther there was never a doubt you were beneath him. With the new age, Merlin never knows who is going to take objection to his perceived pocketbook by his appearance. Which clerk is going to decide he is unworthy of their restaurant or store by the state of his trousers. The waning class system seems to lend itself to a lack of clarity. He wasn't sure he missed it, since that was what made Arthur so wonderful, his value for someone beyond where they were born....but standing in a new world order could be a bit discombobulating.

Thankfully the man at the reception desk was polite when Merlin engaged him. His badge said 'David'.

Merlin smiled nervously, holding his coat clutched in front of him and said “Ah, Ambrosious Middleton. I think James Kingsley is expecting me?”

 

 

( _“Really_ Mer _lin? What sort of rubbish aliases are those?”_ _  
_

_“What did you expect? Arturo Draconis and Merlin Emrys? That's hardly subtle.”  
_

_“It's quite self involved to think someone is tailing you through hotel registers.”_

_“I am not letting the staff titter that Merlin went up to see Arthur for a one-off in a hotel”  
_

_“Have you some aversion to the truth,_ Ambrosious _?”_ )

 

"Yes sir. May I see some identification, please?” David said.

Merlin fumbled through his pocket for his wallet. He flipped it open, setting it on the counter with his photo identification peering out through the plastic sleeve.

Initially, the information age had seemed worrying, but it was quite easy to make up documentation when you were a wizard, and so identities were born, educated and died. A little fiddling of some paper was all it took.

It was within his power to be sure the pictures never looked like grim faced mug shots, either.

The receptionist maintained his polite smile, eyes on the ID as he tapped something into his computer. “Welcome to the Grand, Mr. Middleton. Mr. Kingsley requested you go directly up.” he said, laying a plastic key card on the counter after running it through a scanner. “It's room 1002, the Chairman Suite. May I help you with anything else? Shall I call a bellman to assist you with any luggage?”

Merlin shook his head. “No, no luggage. Ah. Thanks.”

Merlin took the card, remembering all the iron skeleton keys he'd had to steal in his extended lifetime, not the least of which where ones off Arthur himself. Now it was thin sheets of plastic and some computer code. At times he really did marvel at the modern era. He turned to move on, then spun on his heel back toward David. “Ah...elevators?” he asked.

The way was pointed to him, and Merlin crossed the wide lobby, throwing an eye to the restaurant and bar taking up a part of the atrium space. He wound around it to the gleaming bank of four elevators. There he waited with a middle aged couple arguing about dinner. They didn't seem to mind him, and carried on sniping about whether the husband should have berated the waitress for soggy spaghetti as if it were a cosmically significant issue. By the time the elevator arrived Merlin had edged to the side and had pulled his phone from his pocket, pretending to answer it, waving them on when the man held the door for him expectantly. He wanted to wait for the next, so he could have a few moments quiet to gather himself, and so he blathered nonsense until the doors slid closed. Merlin released a breath, waited a few moments then hit the button between the opposite two elevators.

Celebrating every year would be a bit mad, since there's eternity to endure, so adjustments were needed. There's no date, really, since even Merlin can't remember what the precise date was, the day he entered the Citadel at Camelot. He knows it was in spring, and so rounding it to Beltane had a nice, slightly Arthurian-pagan ring to it. So, the first of May became the date of the anniversary. Arthur had always been bad with dates, but this one would have more of a chance to stick in his mind.

They celebrated every twenty five years. That also had a nice cyclical sense to it.

Last anniversary it had been clubbing in Germany. 1987, a building that had probably been a cabaret, a night club then a disco, and was now a cabaret house again. He preferred not to remember it, actually, as there was a bit of a mishap with some powder Merlin had not initially know the identity of.

He hadn't liked the eighties. The seventies were much better, especially after the unrest of the sixties, which sometimes reminded him of the plight of the old religion under Uther. Something about the civil unrest of it all. He didn't think sit-ins and rallies would have worked then, but oh, how he'd liked Martin Luther King Jr. and his words. The 1962 anniversary was just for Merlin. Judy Garland in Las Vegas. He resonated with her suffering and her joy in ways that sounded too ridiculous to verbalize. Arthur would never understand it, but begrudgingly capitulated.

 

 

 

( _“Merlin, you do realize this place if full of queers, don't you? Well, regular couples at the front, and queers in the balcony.”_

_“In case it's escaped your notice, we're queers.”_

_“Not like that we're not. We're not—like that. I don't even fancy this woman. I'm here because you do.”_

_“If you talk while she sings 'The Man That Got Away' I won't be responsible for my actions. They will be swift and terrible and cause you much embarrassment.”_

_“How?”_

_“I'm not telling. I'll let it be a surprise. A horrible, horrible surprise.”_  
 _“You're abysmal at threatening people, d'you know that?”_ )

 

Before that? 1937. Depression. Just a few drinks in a bar in Cairo. It felt odd to celebrate when things were so miserable.

Perhaps because the twentieth century had been a bit of a downer, they were starting the twenty first off right. Clearly this year, things were a bit more intimate. There was even planning involved.

Merlin had gotten the text message about an hour ago, right in the middle of working. He'd been set to spend the whole day at his desk, Ambrosious Middleton was a history professor. He'd worked at a lot of different occupations over the years, since he might as well. So, he'd been a lawyer and he'd been a physician, he'd valeted, he'd sculpted, he'd forged, he'd sailed ships, explored jungles, pursued etymology, run orphanages, bourne stretchers, built botanical gardens, designed theater sets, dug graves, sold ice cream, and on and on. It kept him busy.

Upon returning to academia Merlin discovered he was quite good at writing engaging history textbooks. This shouldn't have been that much of surprise, he'd be skilled in making history real and vivid for people to picture living there. He'd been there and seen it, after all.

He was knee deep on a basic level history book for high school when his cellular phone vibrated to life. Even the text message reeked of prattish over confidence.

 

**Masturbate. Do not cum.**

Ordinarily he'd have taken some tiny amount of umbrage with simply being ordered to play with himself. He'd cocked a brow, thumbs flying over the keyboard.

 

**_Why?_ **

**Because I told you to.**

_**Not feeling inspired.** _

**Merlin.**

_**Yes?** _

**This is supposed to be sexy.**

_**Oh. Is it?** _

**Yes. Do what I tell you.**

**_That still isn't inspirational. I was knee deep in the Spanish Inquisition. Not a sexy time._ **

**Well, stop thinking about the Inquisition bit.**

**Think about the stocks. My stocks.**

**Think about being in them. Naked.**

**Think about what I would do to you, all vulnerable.**

_**You have my attention.** _

**Good.**

Arthur knew the heady combination of thrills and defiance his commands caused within Merlin. Merlin never really wanted to capitulate, and yet very often when he did it was worth it.

The cellular phone was another wonderful and adventurous invention of the modern world.

 

 

( _“It's brilliant, isn't it? If we'd had these in Camelot I'd have found out about you a hell of a lot sooner. Not to mention you'd have been a better servant with me to remind you to do things.”_  
 _“I'm not sure you spamming me with menial tasks qualifies as 'brilliant'”_ )

Merlin had leaned back in his chair at his writing desk, staring at the little pixelated letters, wondering where Arthur's boundless imagination would take them tonight. Imagining the stocks in a less public place, being restrained in them. Unable to see just what Arthur was doing behind him, unable to stop anything he did do...

In no time what-so-ever he'd undone his trousers and palmed himself. Stroked, thinking about all the things that could be done in the stocks. He moaned, but was distracted when his phone vibrated another message.

 

**Send me a picture.**

Merlin flushed, but obeyed. He shifted his phone to take a shot of his erection straining in his hand. He went back to stroking himself, pondering what else Arthur had planned for this sexy night when the phone buzzed again.

“Bloody hell,” He muttered and fumbled with the phone again.

 

**Go put on what's in the bedside drawer and come to the Grand.**

The leather cock ring in the bedside drawer was new, and very, very red. Probably the color had some sexy sounding name, like Sinful Scarlet, or Carnal Crimson, but Merlin knew the shade was really Pendragon red. Arthur wanted him to throttle his cock in the possessive Pendragon color.

It lay in the drawer while Merlin stroked slowly, trying to imagine Arthur picking it out. Going into store after store, looking for one just the right tone of red. It was harder than a person might think, since there were so many shades of red. It would take diligence to find just the right one, not too pink, not too orange. Hell, maybe he had had it specially made just so Arthur would know Merlin was branded by exactly his color. The effort made Merlin buck into his hand, and he groped into the drawer to fish out the ring.

He snapped it into place, then caught sight of himself in the bedroom mirror. He was still dressed, rust turtleneck rucked up, brown corduroy trousers sagging open. The brilliant red ring highlighted the swollen length of his cock where it blossomed from his trousers. His dark hair was askew, and his glasses a bit crooked. All he was missing was kiss swollen lips.

With his cock imprisoned by Arthur from across the city, Merlin decided he was due some pity, and took a cab instead of public transit. He used his coat as a shield against the world.

Another elevator arrived with a cheerful ding. Merlin swooped in and mashed the door close button so he could have the small box to himself. The doors slid closed and he exhaled.

As the elevator climbed to the floor where Arthur waited, Merlin's joy department had renewed it's interest which had only just begun to wane. He was fiddling, twitching, pent up. Anticipation tasted like pomegranates.

The arrival of the elevator had Merlin swallowing before he exited into a hall carpeted in silence. This was the top floor but one. The room was at the end of the corridor, the Do Not Disturb placard already hanging. He knocked softly in warning, before using the key card to admit himself.

“Arthur?” He called softly into the dim of the Chairman Suite corridor.

Even with the lights low Merlin could tell at once this was not just a room or a suite, but as large as an apartment, not the identical cookie-cutter suites boxing up the floors below. Arthur would like it; he always liked the best.

Merlin stepped into the hall of the suite, letting the front door swing closed behind him. He threw the deadbolt just in case housekeeping went rogue.

A chair had been left a few feet inside, enough space so Merlin wouldn't trip on it before he saw it. One of the thick hotel robes was waiting there, a note waiting atop it. Merlin plucked it up, smiling at the familiar scrawl.

 

 

**Take off your clothes. Put this on.**

Merlin could feel himself flushing.

Folding the note back up, he toed out of his shoes, tucking them under the chair. He clothes followed, trousers, turtleneck, all folded nicely when at home he usually just tossed them on the ground haphazardly. There was ceremony, tonight. Ceremony as he doffed his socks, his scarf, his underwear. He sucked in a breath when terry clothe rubbed his erection as he belted the robe around his middle.

His bare feet sounded softly on carpet. All the doors on the corridor were pulled shut, leading him in a straight shot to a large, open room. The blinds were retracted so that floor to ceiling windows displayed the dark cityscape, buildings shaped out in lights illuminated by wavering shafts of moonlight. It must have been a suite intended for gatherings; the corridor opened into a big entertaining space, as if for small private parties. There was a circular wooden floor for dancing sunk down, surrounded by chairs and long rectangular couches. The lights were off, except for a lone table lamp.

Merlin called softly. “Arthur...?”

He approached the light, fingers tangled in the tie of the robe.

The lamp was perched on a small table next to one of the big upholstered chairs beside the dance floor. He could make out the glass of scotch that rested there, and the lubrication beside it. A familiar brand. He turned to seek the chair when the order was given.

“Eyes on the floor.”

Regretfully, Merlin looked down at the carpet. He could imagine, though. Arthur's elegant suit would be a bit rumpled, having come straight from work. Something indecently expensive. Prada. Or Hugo Boss. Some name he hasn't bothered to learn because as long as his clothes generally fit him he doesn't care where they came from. He might not care about designer labels and the perfect cut, but Arthur does. Granted, he always looks edible in something tailored to hug him, whether the suit jacket is discarded, showing off the way his shirt clings to him after a long day, or everything is in place and he's polished as a runway escapee.

Without seeing, Merlin could imagine the way Arthur would sit, his legs spread wide. Was there a bulge already from mere anticipation? He hoped. He would imagine just seeing the shape of it through the fine material of the trousers, no matter how impassive the face.

“Show me.”

It morphed into that tone. The one of the King. The one that brooked no defiance and carried automatic assurance of obedience. The one that there simply wasn't much of a place for, these days, not even in the most high powered of board rooms.

Merlin swallowed, fingers stumbling over the deceptively simple knot he'd put into the robe. He managed to get it loose, and hauled open the panels of the robe. He was so aware of it, of being naked with the windows at his back, and nothing but Pendragon color, - Arthur's color- bracing his body exposed for Arthur's perusal. He could feel his heartbeat in his cock, almost so loud and insistent it was a wonder the neighbors weren't pounding on the walls in complaint.

After a moment he dropped the robe into a heap. He probably wouldn't be needing it. Now he was bare. Exposed. For a second his hands fluttered as if to cover himself.

“Don't you even fucking think of it.”

He shifted, laying flat his palms against his outer thighs. The quiet stretched.

“Beautiful. Look at you. Just beautiful.”

Merlin knew he was all exaggerated points and awkward angles. He knew it, but when the voice slicked over him like that he forgot it for a little while. He felt beautiful, felt desirable, a little giddy, even. As if he's had a drink, several drinks. He hasn't. It's just Arthur. Arthur telling him good things, not that he's useless or drunk or insensible. That he's beautiful. Desirable. Wanted.

“Touch your nipples.”

Merlin was only too happy to raise his hands, to pluck at the tightly beaded nubs of flesh. Pleasurable little jolts rolled down his spine as his nerves awoke.

“Pinch. I know you like that.”

Merlin obliged, nimble fingers compressing his own flesh in irregular pulses. It made him feel more alert, more needy. His breath accelerated just slightly. There appeared to be no hurry on Arthur's part, however, and he let Merlin carry on abusing his pectorals until they'd gone tender, and the pinches made his squirm.

“Arthur,” Merlin gasped. “Can I-?”

“No.”

The lube came flying at him, and Merlin jerked to catch it.

“Tonight I want a show. Turn around,” Merlin turned and at once noticed something else set up. He hadn't noticed, he'd been so focused on the illuminated chair. In the middle of the wooden floor there was what looked like a black yoga mat laid flat. A hole had been cut in the middle of it, and standing obscenely in the center of it was a suction cup dildo in the same vivid Pendragon red. The suction cup was clamped to the floor, so it arced upwards. It was like some lewd cabaret- and so close to the windows.

Merlin sucked in a breath even as he felt his cock give a twitch. At least a thought had been given to his knees.

“Open yourself up, first.”

His fingers still clutched the lube. On nervous legs he approached the yoga mat. He could try and be coy about it, but he knew what was intended, and Merlin has always striven to give Arthur what he wants. The cost has never been important.

He went down on his knees, back facing his audience. The snapping of the cap seemed pointedly loud as Merlin fumbled with it, squirting the cool gel on his fingers. He bent onto all fours and spread himself for Arthur's view. In a few seconds he's painting his long fingers wet with lube over the crease between his legs, skating the pads over his pucker. It feels good, especially after waiting to be touched so long. But, slowly. A show. He can do this. His arousal might be on display, but under those expensive tailored slacks, Arthur's just as hard, yearning just as much.

So Merlin played and however much it scraped away at his sanity, it was a fair price to pay.

He dipped his fingertip into himself, then came back with two because the stretch was so sweet. More lube. In and out. A pale imitation of what he wanted. Little grunts punctuate the click of the lube as he opens himself with his fingers, widening their spread as he thrusts, thrusts, lets the grunts become entreaties. Yes Arthur, so nice Arthur, not enough, Arthur, please Arthur.

The voice has gone husky.

“Yes- now. Don't turn around, I want to watch. Do it.”

Merlin dragged himself to his knees, and crawled forward, knowing his glistening bottom is wagging, his hole pink and all of him terribly wanton looking. He spread more lube on the dildo, which had the soft flex of silicone, then positioned himself. Braced, he paused, waiting, even with the promise of being filled lingering so near. He waited.

“Take my cock.” And Merlin swept down, letting the toy spear up inside of him. He gave a choked cry, cock jumping. He might have come, if not for the throttling band, all that Arthur red preventing his climax, and yet also filling him up. Giving and taking. Arthur!

With a tensing of thighs, Merlin began to ride, his palms pressed to the mat.

“You're such an obedient boy, Merlin.”

Merlin whined in assent and pleasure. He'd gotten an easy slowly increasing rhythm going and it was hard after waiting so long to think properly.

“I love watching you.”

He so badly wanted to peep over his shoulder, to see himself being watched, to see the approval, the lust in the blue eyes. To see what he could hear in the regal voice.

“A-Arthur!” He said, his voice hitching.

“I love watching you obey every one of my orders. Knowing that each one I give you will fulfill. Even this. What do you think someone across the way there would think if they looked out the window and saw you? They might, Merlin. They might catch a glimpse at history's greatest sorcerer, fucking his own arse for me, all because I told him to.”

It was pathetic, but true. He would do anything Arthur told him, and his own willingness, the danger he put himself in at the mere words of Arthur somehow spurned his own passion. He was pumping the dildo harder inside him, his cock bouncing against he belly, leaving little smears of wet.

“But you need me here to tell you, don't you Merlin? Otherwise, where would you be? You'd just be wanting with no one to give to you. Not too fast, now. I want this to last. Slow down. Slow down.” The words were sharper with the second warning about speed, possibly because all Merlin had done was moan ruefully, not wanting to slow.

“No-No, Arthur-please, I-” But Merlin does it. Anything for Arthur. He modulates, dropping to a leisurely thrust.

Arthur's voice is just behind him. He's gotten out of the chair, has moved closer. At least before he was cross the room, but now he's nearer. Merlin felt himself go red imagining what Arthur could see. Puffy lips of his arse clenched around the dildo, the lube smearing as he moved.

“That's it. If I wasn't here you'd rush headlong into it, wouldn't you? Greedy, Merlin. You don't know how to savor things properly, without me. You don't know how to appreciate.”

Merlin whined.

“Now lean a bit forward- Do it, _Mer_ lin,” Merlin leaned and thrust, and the tapered head of the dildo assaulted him in the cruelest and most wonderful way possible.

He didn't even have it in him to wonder what sort of terrifying animal sounds he was making as Arthur directed him to grind against his prostate over and over, until he was shaking with stimulation, his thighs burning from moving. He was damp with sweat, and maybe even crying a little bit. It was all so much and it's exactly what he wanted. Too much. Too much was what he needed. Filling everything inside with hot want until he's about to burst.

“So close,”

“P-pl-please-” Merlin found his voice to hiccup the words out, fingernails digging into the mat, tearing it in his fervor.

“What is it, Merlin?” He was still pumping, grinding deeper and it hurt now, hurt in the most wonderful fulfilling way.

“P-Please A-Arthur,” The sounds are wet.

“Please who?”

“P-Please Sire- Please, Sire! Sire- Please, I need, I-I neeeed-” His tongue tripped over the words, barely able to make them.

“Good boy. You've done so well. Been so obedient. Faster now, Merlin. Give me a good finale.”

The permission was gold, and Merlin commanded his quivering limbs to hasty motion once more. His thighs screamed, but it felt so good, too much. Too much Arthur, moving within him, filling him up. His mouth was open, sucking in breath, exhaling with wordless cries when the words fell away. The lights in the blue canvas outside smeared past his vision, and he was hardly aware of what he was seeing. He rocked and fucked himself with abandon, leaving shame and embarrassment behind, forgetting the people outside all the open windows. His balls bounced, cock jangling, aching, almost purple with the release he craved, and yet didn't want. Savor. He had to savor, but God he wanted to cum!

...But he wanted to please Arthur more, and so he did his best, and made a display of himself, loosing everything into the simple motion and the response it elicited within him.

“Alright Merlin,” So close to his ear, he can almost feel the breathe tickling his hair, the words a satisfied purr.

Merlin gave a needy keen.

“Cum for your King.”

The cock ring flew off, and Merlin obeyed with a shout of elation. He sunk down hard and deep, ecstatic agony spiraling up through his balls, drawn tight. He spilled across the floor, pearlescent drops spattering artistically. He shouted Arthur's name to the ceiling, eyes open and unseeing as he arched, letting the sensation consume him and all thought fled, until one simple want was all that remained.

Free of constraint his hands scrabbled, plunging backwards, seeking a hand, a leg, a shirttail, seeking something of the presence he felt so strongly and absolutely at his back. Some little touch of Arthur.

His hands captured nothing at all.

As his mind came back to him he pulled his hands away from something they would never catch hold of.

He sank to hands and knees. Merlin panted there a long few moments before he gingerly pulled off the dildo. The silicon felt hot against his flesh, and unrelenting. There was a wet sucking sound when his body released the toy.

He hissed and slunk to rest on his side on the cold floor. His body was electric with feeling, synapses still crying joyfully, the orgasmic earthquake having rattled him but good.

The tsunami came next.

He was expecting it, he was. It was the price of the game of pretend, though it often had the good grace to let him recover, let him just get his feet under him before the second impact struck. Not today, it seemed.

The crash was always directly proportionate to how deep he'd lead himself, and Merlin had let himself go very, very deep this time. Not just his usual tricks, but more, further, he'd wanted to really feel how it could be. Needed to feel how it could be. He'd known how bad the fall would be, and yet...yet he'd needed so much. He was starting to feel empty all the time now, and not just in little moments.

He let the wave of loss over come him, even as he felt sweet and used. Though no one could see him through enspelled windows, he brought the drapes closed with a mere motion of the fingers, shielding his misery from feeling so public. Then he curled into the fetal position and sobbed unabashedly.

He lay there a long while before stirring himself. When at last he did, Merlin summoned a towel over, blotting his body before he stood. A fistful of magic released, and he headed for the shower, confident that by the time he got out all the traces of Arthur having been there he'd so diligently arranged that morning would be gone.

 

 

( _“Well. A good fuck deserves room service, don't you think? Do you fancy a bacon sarney or dessert? Merlin?”_

_“Nngh.”_

  
_“Right. Home to our bed it is.”_ )


End file.
